Belladonna

Slowly, he would lean close to her, with lips of blood and eyes that were as yellow as the moon. And then he would talk to her in Falco’s voice. Cass hated this the most, the way Falco’s words emerged from the lips of a monster. But when Falco told her to relax, she did. And when he told her to hold still, she would. She’d wince as his fangs punctured her skin, but it didn’t hurt. Not really. And then he would brush his lips against hers and leave her there in the well. In the morning, she always awoke in her bed, the salty taste of her own blood throbbing on her lips.

She didn’t know what to think. Could her visions, somehow, be real? Was the book disappearing? Was she being visited by a vampire in her sleep? Cass didn’t even know if she believed in vampires. Several times, she almost confessed her fears to Piero, but something held her back. What if she was right? Piero might denounce her to the Church.

Each morning, Cass raised a hand to her neck, searching for the telltale wounds that might indicate that her hallucinations were more than just bizarre fantasies brought on by fevers or medicines. On her sixth morning at Belladonna’s estate, she thought she felt a pair of nicks, directly above where the pressure of her blood pumped in the right side of her neck. She ran her fingers across the spot repeatedly. There might be a bite mark there. Cass couldn’t tell for certain.

The mirror was all the way across the room, and Cass didn’t feel strong enough to stand. She glanced around for a closer reflective surface. Her breakfast tray was made of tarnished pewter. The best she could do was angle a spoon awkwardly at her throat. She contorted her head this way and that. No luck.

Someone coughed delicately from the doorway.

“Mada!” Cass dropped the spoon on the bedside table. “I’m so glad to see you. I thought you’d forgotten about me.” Cass didn’t mean for the words to come out so bitterly.

“I make the trip here every day after breakfast, Cass,” Mada said, in a tone of reproach. “The last few days you’ve been sound asleep and I couldn’t bring myself to wake you.” She raised her eyebrows at the spoon. “What, exactly, were you doing?”

Cass knew she could trust Madalena. She ordered her friend to close the door, and then, after Mada had taken a seat on the bed, Cass told her everything: the dream, that she wasn’t getting better, that she woke up weaker and more fatigued each day. She told her everything except that the vampire spoke in Falco’s voice. Mada didn’t need another reason to be suspicious of him.

“There are tiny red marks on your neck,” Madalena admitted. Seeing Cass’s expression, she added, “But maybe you’ve been picking and scratching at it. How could a vampire get into your bedroom?”

Cass sighed. “I don’t know. It all sounds ridiculous, but . . .” She fiddled with the coverlet. She had a suspicion she didn’t know how to voice; she didn’t want Mada to accuse her of being jealous. But finally she decided to risk it. “Belladonna ‘came back from the dead,’ didn’t she? And she doesn’t seem to age. And even among her servants, no one looks much older than either of us. And we know she’s the leader of the Order of the Eternal Rose . . .” Cass rubbed at her neck again. “What if everyone here is a vampire?” she blurted out. “What if one of her servants is drinking from me in my sleep?”

Madalena’s eyes widened. “Do you—do you really think she might be a—” Mada couldn’t even choke out the word. “And her servants too?”

“I don’t know,” Cass said. “It’s possible, isn’t it?”

Madalena stood with sudden resolution. “That’s it. Enough. We’ve got to get you out of here.”

Cass shook her head. “I’m too weak to stand. I can hardly go anywhere.”

“I’ll bring my father back. Or Marco. They can carry you to the carriage.”

“I can’t leave yet, Mada,” Cass said. “I need to know.” She also needed to find the Book of the Eternal Rose.

Madalena rubbed her forehead. “What can we do, then? There has to be a way to protect you.”

Cass tried to think past the pounding in her skull. “Where is Siena?”

Mada waved her hand in the direction of the hallway. “She was supposed to be seeing about getting us some tea.”

“Listen. The two of you will spend the day here with me, perhaps go for a stroll around Belladonna’s garden. But tonight, you’ll send Siena home in the carriage alone.” Cass’s throat went dry. She swallowed back the taste of sawdust. “If you spend the night, you can hide behind the curtains and see whether there really is someone sneaking into my room.” Cass blushed. She knew she was asking Mada for a lot. And it was ludicrous, wasn’t it? The thought of a vampire prowling Belladonna’s villa, feasting on her in her dreams.

Madalena turned ghost-pale. “But what if you’re right? What if we’re both attacked? Then I won’t be any help to you at all.”

Immediately, Cass realized she had asked the wrong person for help. The mere thought of vampires was almost enough to make Mada faint. She wouldn’t be able to hide quietly behind the curtains while a vampire drank from Cass. She’d shriek like she was the one being attacked and pull out the vial of holy water she wore around her neck. They’d both end up dead, or worse.

Siena was the better choice. She was quiet, and she could be fierce when the situation called for it. Siena had once attacked Falco with a frying pan back on San Domenico. He and Cass had been making plans in Agnese’s dark kitchen when Siena came upon them whispering and thought Falco was a kidnapper or a murderer. She had clocked him a good one. His head hurt for days. “Siena will do it,” Cass said. “She’s done this sort of thing for me before.”

Madalena arched an eyebrow but didn’t ask for details. “I’ll find her,” she said, gliding from the room. She returned with Siena a few minutes later and Cass explained the plan once more.

When the sun set, Piero brought Cass another draught of mandrake and feverfew and began to re-dress her wounds. Cass felt him cutting through her bandages. The cool vinegar splashed on her arm, which was throbbing a lot less than usual. “How is it?” she asked thickly. She was already beginning to sink down into the well.

Piero didn’t answer right away. “The wounds are healing,” he said. “My main concern now is your lingering fevers. But you’ve had no more visions?”

“No,” Cass lied. The mandrake had made her so drowsy that Piero was no more than a shapeless form. Her visual disturbances were probably the result of the medicines he was giving her. Cass refused to entertain any other possibility.

As she dozed off, the vampire visited as usual, gently stroking her hair as he drank from her.

“Why me?” Cass asked him, tilting her head so that she could look into his yellow eyes.

The vampire lifted his lips from her neck. The blood had painted them black in the darkness. “You’re helpless,” Falco’s voice whispered. “Why not you?” He kissed her on the forehead. “Sleep now,” he said, but he shook her good arm as he spoke.

Cass turned away from him, snuggling her arm beneath her pillow. The vampire shook it again . . .

“Signorina Cass!”

Cass’s eyes flicked open. Siena was standing over her, pale and wide-eyed, shocks of blonde hair coming loose from her usual smart braid.

“I’m awake,” Cass mumbled. She pulled her arm out of Siena’s grasp. It took her a few seconds to remember why Siena was still there. She sat up in bed. Her hand went to her neck. She felt it immediately: an almost-imperceptible bump.

“Did you . . . did you see someone?” Cass asked.

Siena sat on the edge of the bed. “It wasn’t a vampire. It was Dottor Basso. After he bandaged your arm, he left. You fell asleep. You were so still. I wasn’t even sure if you were breathing.” If Siena chewed her lower lip any harder, she was going to draw blood. “He returned with a black case and a large needle. Signorina Cass, he drew blood from that spot on your neck. Several syringes full. Why would he drain your blood in secret?”

Why, indeed? It was common to use leeches for bloodletting, at least in Venice. Cass had seen the slimy creatures attached to Agnese’s papery skin multiple times. Was there a medicinal reason Piero was drawing her blood? If so, why was he taking so much blood that it was keeping Cass pale and bedbound? And why would he do it in secret? Was Piero trying to give her visions? Was he trying to make her think she was being feasted on by vampires?

“I’m not certain,” Cass said. She didn’t want Siena to panic. “He’s probably just trying to balance my humors. You’ve seen Dottor Orsin draw blood from my aunt quite frequently.”

Siena shuddered. “With leeches. Not with that horrible long needle.”